Wa of Barbeque

It’s a quiet night at Earl’s Barbeque. Patrons watch the game and calmly enjoy their meals. The waitress smiles and takes our order. Cares of the day dissolve in anticipation of spicy comfort food.

A glow settles behind houses to the West as the sun takes a last peek over the horizon. It’s going to be a cool Oklahoma night.

Cerveza with lime will go down good with an order of ribs. Fried okra on the side.

At the table are people I love most and they’re smiling at me.

The man in the corner booth doesn’t appear a bit like trouble. Clean, conservative, model citizen by the look of him. When all the world is swirling towards doom, such a man might bring deliverance.

On this occasion, he has a sermon to deliver. It is not specifically directed to those at his table. The message reverberates the room like pulpit prophecy.

Attention must be paid: “I will give that sonabitch 60 seconds to get out of my sight before I start shootin’!”

Everyone must pay: “I’ve got the right to defend myself! Anybody don’t believe it? I’m countin’ to 10! Then, I don’t care who they are! If they’re still there, I’m blowin’ their heads off! That’s it!”

Checks are paid. The corner booth empties. Something heavy sags in a small bag the man carries by a draw string. He wearily exits to the parking lot. Streetlights flicker on as his vehicle accelerates out of sight

Spicy comfort food arrives. The ones I love most smile.

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